


his name will be forever sung

by gealach89 (gealach)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ballads, Gen, Post battle of Winterfell, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, post-8.03, written post 8.03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 13:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18661264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach89
Summary: So it was that the singer who composed the Ballad of Night’s End quickly rose to the Dragon Queen’s good graces in time to perform at the feast. Many had heard whispers already of the events that had transpired, but none had the full picture; and so it was that the crowd listened in rapt silence to the greatest tale of all.





	his name will be forever sung

**Author's Note:**

> I have many feelings about Theon's death, and I had to exorcise them somehow.

Afterwards, there was a feast.

A great feast, the likes of which the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t seen in a long while. All remaining Houses, those who hadn’t perished during the Long Night or at the hands of the Mad Queen, converged on King’s Landing to swear fealty to the Dragon Queen and her consort. The ceremony was grandiose, but even more still was the feast, held amongst the great ruins that formed during the Siege of King’s Landing. It was, after all, the only space wide enough to welcome the smallfolk as well, a move the Dragon Queen was adamant on performing, to the chagrin to many of the gathered lords, although not all of them were wholly adverse.

From their high seats the Dragon Queen and her consort surveyed the crowd, surrounded by the heroes that chased the Long Night away and by their most trusted advisors. And when bellies were full and all gathered merry, the Dragon Queen raised her hand.

They were all alive, she said, her clear voice ringing as a hush fell upon her subjects, because of the sacrifice of the many who gave their lives in the Battle of the Dawn, fought at Winterfell amongst ice and smoke. The dead, she intoned, must be honored, for without them the Realm would have fallen. And she hung her head. Many did the same, honoring her request and the dead with silent prayers, whether to the Old Gods or the Seven or even to the Drowned God. And in the silence, a delicate voice sung.

It is no secret that singers thrive in times such as these, always striving for the great stories. And what a story had come from the North! A tale of noble sacrifice, the struggle of so few against the horde of cold monsters, against the darkness that would have consumed all.

So it was that the singer who composed the Ballad of Night’s End quickly rose to the Dragon Queen’s good graces in time to perform at the feast. Many had heard whispers already of the events that had transpired, but none had the full picture; and so it was that the crowd listened in rapt silence to the greatest tale of all.

They heard of the first frantic losses, lost to the ice before the enemy could even be seen, strangers come from afar to die in the name of their queen. They heard of the chaos unleashed within the walls of the ancient hold, and of the carnage in the crypts. They heard of the Andal, fallen protecting the Dragon Queen; and of the Giantslayer, the ferocious child-lady of Bear Island.

And the mournful notes carried deep in their hearts as the singer turned their ears away from the clangor and into the disrupted peace of the holiest ground, the great godswood of Winterfell, where the true battle began. There the unlikeliest of heroes stood their ground in protection of the Three Eyed Raven until all but one fell; there the Protector of the Realm, Theon of House Greyjoy, held fast against the horde of the Undead, slaughtering Wights until he stood alone, outnumbered – and yet still not defeated – against the Night King himself. His was a fool’s charge, those who understand nothing still call it; and yet it bought precious moments, for it was thanks to his last stand that the She-Wolf of Winterfell, Bringer of Dawn, Destroyer of the Night, could reach the godswood in time, before the Night King struck and the memory of the world was wiped out.

It is said, though many would call it untrue, that even the Ironborns looked stricken as the tale of their kinsmen’s sacrifice was recounted; and that the Kraken Queen, the harsh warrior who finally put an end to their reaver’s days, held herself tall and proud, salt gleaming on her cheeks, and none dared saying anything to her. For even though she must have certainly been told of the manner of her brother’s demise prior to the feast, to hear his actions so revered startled her, after all that had been said and done regarding his infamous betrayal.

But the greatest men, the wise know, oftentimes come from the harshest circumstances. And although much ink has been spilled over the Protector’s misdeeds, and his divided loyalties, and what truly was to blame for his decisions, the wise agree that he was a good man, and that everything he did brought him to that fateful moment, to the great Weirwood tree.

Without him, none would be.

His is the Ballad of Night’s End. His, though others claim the final honor, is the ultimate victory. For, as his people say, what is dead may never die.

And even in death, his name will be forever sung.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome ^-^ Do tell me your thoughts!


End file.
